


Protein, Parrish

by lynnkn



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Check Please!AU, Depression, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Past Child Abuse, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23600158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnkn/pseuds/lynnkn
Summary: Adam Parrish is the newest member of Aglionby University's men's hockey team and for the first time, he feels like he's a part of a family. But Adam's rec league hockey team didn't prepare him for the scariest part of college ice hockey. Checking.If Adam's going to stay on the team, he's going to need help from the last person he wants to ask, his apathetic captain, Ronan Lynch.*A TRC Check Please!AU.*
Relationships: Henry Cheng & Noah Czerny & Richard Gansey III & Ronan Lynch & Adam Parrish & Blue Sargent, Richard Gansey III/Blue Sargent, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 20
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

Adam Parrish, a habitual skeptic, believed Cabeswater was magic. As the sun rose past the trees, they cast a haunting shadow over the ice. He’d been awestruck by it when he’d toured the rink, but he still couldn’t believe it was his home.

Technically his home was a 115-square-foot room in Dittley Hall, but he wasn’t interested in splitting hairs.

He hadn’t been on the ice since May, and he hadn’t been at all in his new skates, so he was a little shaky to start. He hovered near the wall to avoid suspicion. 

Gansey, who had taken a liking to Adam for some undetermined reason, stuck close to him. It wasn’t that Adam minded. It was just that he was trying to break in new skates without announcing it to the whole team, and Gansey’s persistent hover wasn’t helping.

Gansey trailed off from the story he was telling. “You’re from Virginia too. Right?” Adam nodded. He didn’t want to talk about where he was from, but it wasn’t a secret. “Near Jonesville?”

“Henrietta.” He tried not to spit when he said it.

“Right,” Gansey said. “How could I forget? The cave systems near there are extraordinary. Have you ever had the chance to explore them?”

He could remember a cave on a field trip once when he was a kid, but nothing recreationally. Robert and Sarah Parrish didn’t do family outings.

“Only a little,” he said.

“I haven’t been in probably five or six years.” His enthusiasm was a quiet hum in Adam’s ear. He could see Gansey physically restrain himself from fidgeting. It would have been endearing if the conversation at hand was about anything other than Henrietta. “I’d love to go back sometime. The Welsh influence in the region is fascinating.”

“Gansey,” a voice called from across the ice. Ronan Lynch skated toward them. Adam didn’t let himself flinch, but it was a conscious choice, certainly not what his body’s first instinct would have been. His rigid stance threw off his balance, and he grasped the wall tighter to recover. 

Ronan was taller than Adam had imagined, and there was a permanent sneer on his face that warned casual observers off. But after a moment of consideration, the fear relaxed. Not completely. Adam never wholly relaxed, especially not around new people. But Ronan couldn’t be too dangerous if he was going to so much trouble to look it. The people Adam actually feared hid their menace behind layers of polite conversation and neighborly handshakes.

The two fist-bumped casually and what a strange pair the two of them were. Gansey, encased in marble, trapped forever with the face of a teenage scholar, and Ronan, with rough stubble and bags under his eyes that made him look closer to his thirtieth birthday than his twentieth. “Ronan,” Gansey said, turning the attention to him. “This is Adam Parrish.”

Ronan’s stare was unwavering, but Adam was the most stubborn person he knew. He held his chin up and matched the larger, scarier man eye-to-eye. Adam wasn’t scared of some trust-fund legacy player. If he kept thinking that, maybe he could convince himself it was true.

“What’s wrong with your fucking skates?” he asked.

Adam didn’t have a good response. He thought he was hiding his discomfort pretty well.

“Jesus,” Gansey said. “Are those new?”

“Yeah,” he said. There was no point lying when the truth was so obvious.

“You didn’t have time to break them in this summer?” Ronan asked.

“No,” he said. “I promise you my old ones were beyond hope.” Persephone had offered to buy him new ones, but he didn’t feel comfortable with that. He liked his new ones. He could already tell they were going to speed him up. For what they cost him, he sure hoped so. “I’ll be alright. I’ve just gotta break them in.”

Ronan rolled his eyes, an irritating gesture that oozed indifference. Indifference was a privilege Adam had craved his entire life. If Adam didn’t give a shit, he didn’t get shit. He’d only stayed alive as long as he had by caring. By wanting so damn much, it leaked out of his pores. Ambition was a hell of a drug.

“We’ve got ourselves another Virginian on the team,” Gansey said, thumb rubbing anxiously at his lip. “Adam is from Henrietta. That’s near you, right?”

Ronan nodded. “Singer Falls.”

“Really?” Adam said. Another lie, of course. Everyone in the Shenandoah Valley knew the Lynch family.

“Yep,” Ronan said. There was nowhere else for this conversation to go without bringing up Ronan’s background, or worse, Adam’s, so the three of them stood in silence for way too long to be comfortable. Gansey glanced between the two of them like he was waiting for them to make some grand connection, but they continued to stare.

Ronan’s stare was a wild one, meant to scare off opponents. But Adam didn’t shy away from it. He didn’t like conflict, but he was good at it. He’d lived with it since he was born. This was his arena. A little staring competition was nothing.

“Well,” Gansey said, clapping his hands together. He rubbed them anxiously against one another. “Good talk. Ronan, I think Blue wanted to talk to you about something in the equipment room.”

Ronan took a moment to tear his gaze away from Adam, but Adam held it even as he turned to go.

“Sorry about him. He’s not always like this,” Gansey said.

Adam was willing to venture a guess that he probably was.

The first few rounds of warm-ups and drills went better than Adam expected. He was getting more comfortable in his new skates, and while he was struggling to keep up, he wasn’t the worst on the ice like he thought he’d be.

Then they started running plays.

They weren’t overly difficult or complicated. Adam was doing okay for the most part, but there was one thing he’d been dreading since he’d first signed his contract with the team.

Technically, Adam had never been checked before.

In Henrietta, the ice had been the safest place he could be. Persephone used to let him stay for hours after practice, running drills by himself or making penalty shots, or sometimes just sitting around, killing time before he had to go back home.

Here, in Cabeswater, it was going to get violent. He’d known that all along, but he’d hoped it wouldn’t happen during his first practice. He’d hoped he’d have a little time to adjust.

Henry Cheng was not a big guy, no bigger than Adam anyway. It shouldn’t have been scary watching him charge across the ice. But the second their pads collided, Adam went down hard. 

_His father was leaning over him. He had a tight grip on the front of his sweaty t-shirt. His breath smelled like cheap beer, and Adam couldn’t figure out why that of all things bothered him so much._

_“Look at me when I talk to you,” he hissed._

_Adam couldn’t get his eyes open. There was dust in them. Dust in his blood, pumping through his veins. It was who he was. It was where he came from, and when he died, he’d turned back to dust. He could only hope it was soon._

“Parrish,” a voice called, softer than his father’s, almost hesitant.

He peeled his eyes open.

He was at center ice. He was lying at center ice at Cabeswater, and the entire Aglionby Men’s Hockey Team was staring at him.

“I promise I didn’t hit him that hard,” Henry said.

“Shut up,” Ronan said. “You gonna survive, Parrish?”

Adam nodded. He pushed himself to his feet. Ronan reached out to help him, but he brushed it off.

“That was impressive,” Noah said. “Do you think we could make a play out of that?”

Adam watched the coaches, gathered at the wall, watching him, expressions concerned. He gathered himself, turning his expression to stone. It was fine. He was fine. He had to show them he was tough enough for this. He couldn’t freak out every time he got checked. 

Except once a guy hits the ice in a full-blown panic attack, the team gets a little nervous about hitting him again. He watched them skate around him, slowing down to let him pass. They moved slower, more deliberately. But it wouldn’t work long-term. Other teams weren’t going to leave him alone just because he was scared. He hated them, their pitying looks, their tense smiles. Fuck all of them.

He didn’t stop to talk to anyone when practice was over, not even Gansey. 

He let himself take far too long in the shower. He couldn’t remember ever showering without worrying about the water bill, so he let himself enjoy then warmth as it washed over him. Once he was sure everyone else had left, he scrambled for his towel and clothes, changing as quickly as he could before returning to the main part of the locker room. Several of the guys had already left, so it wasn’t hard to avoid stares and questions. He didn’t want to talk to any of them ever again. He’d never been so embarrassed. 

In the parking lot, a small crowd had gathered around a shiny, orange Camaro. He wanted to walk away. He wanted to get ahead on the reading for his Sociology class, and he hoped to find time to call Persephone and lie to her about how his first practice went great, and it was going to be a great year. But something drew him in. Whether it be fate or intuition, he wasn’t sure. Persephone used to call him perceptive. Maybe that was it.

Gansey sat in the driver’s seat, hopelessly turning his key in the ignition. A guttural growl came forth, but no signs of actual life. Blue, the team manager, was leaning out the passenger side window, yelling unhelpful instructions at Ronan as he fiddled helpless under the hood. Noah, in the backseat, stretched over the center console, face concerned. “I don’t have a fucking clue, man,” Ronan said. “You’re going to have to call Triple-A.”

“Need any help?” Adam asked.

“That depends,” Gansey said. “Do you happen to know anything about cars?”

“I know a thing or two.”

It turned out to be a faulty spark plug, a stupidly easy fix. Adam finished quickly and soon found himself in the backseat, tucked between Noah and Ronan on his way to Nino’s. 

They led Adam straight to a booth at the back of the restaurant. He rushed ahead of Gansey to put his left side against the wall. Gansey slid in beside him, and the other three piled onto the opposite booth. 

They ordered a large deep-dish pizza—half avocado and half sausage. Adam didn’t order anything other than water. He had a meal plan and had been taking full advantage of it. But he still couldn’t afford to be blowing what little money he had on pizza. 

“You play hockey. You fix cars,” Gansey said. “What can’t you do?” 

“Take a hit,” Ronan said.

Blue smacked his shoulder. “Shut the fuck up.” She turned to Adam. “Ignore him. We’re thinking about getting him a shock collar.”

Adam had known this outing was a bad idea. He’d been distracted by the hope of it all, their closeness, the way these guys knew each other better than anyone else. These were uncharted waters for Adam. He’d let them draw him in. But he knew better, and he had to keep reminding himself. He was unknowable. Untouchable. He was a functional machine made of broken pieces, and one day it would all come to a grinding halt. It was better to keep everyone else out of the way of the inevitable crash. 

Gansey turned a stern glare to Ronan like he was about to scold a toddler. He opened his mouth to say something, but then shut it in a silent huff. He turned back to Adam. “Any other hobbies?”

Adam knew how to do lots of things, just nothing he’d call a hobby. His father had taught him how to protect his face. His mother had taught him how to lie. But Persephone had taught him how to play hockey. When he’d showed up at the rink, scrawny and hungry, searching for a third job, she’d seen him for what he was. She gave him a job cleaning the stands after games. She’d paid him more than he was worth and bought his equipment. Hockey was his ticket out of Henrietta, but there was one more thing she’d taught him.

“I can bake a mean pie.”

“I beg your pardon?” Gansey’s grin broke through his marble features. It made him look less noble than his previous politician-perfect smile. “Pies?”

He nodded. 

“You should come bake at Monmouth,” Noah said. He bounced in his seat, an impatient gesture that shook the whole table. 

“That is not a bad idea,” Gansey said. “We never have baked goods.”

“I made brownies last year,” Noah said. 

“Those do not count.” Gansey shook a stern finger at Noah. “And you know why.”

When their waitress came back with the pizza, she sat it in the middle of the table and handed plates to each of them. Adam gently pushed his away. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. 

“I’m sorry, Adam,” Gansey said, eyebrows pulled up in a concerned crease. “We should’ve asked what you wanted. We can order something else if you’d like.” His words said _I was wrong_ , but his eyes said _you poor thing_. Adam hated pity. 

“I’m fine,” he snapped. “I’m just not hungry.”

Ronan leaned over the table, grabbing a slice with sausage on it. It slapped onto the plate, and Ronan slid it forward, just under his face. 

“Eat it anyway,” Ronan said. “You could use the fucking protein.”

Fuck Ronan Lynch.

He ate it anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no other excuse for how long this has taken other than *vaguely gestures at the world* 2020. Make sure to check the tags.

Once upon a time, a man named Niall Lynch built a kingdom, one full of trophies and pucks and back-to-back Stanley Cup Championships. And he proclaimed himself king. He met Aurora soon after and made her his queen and sired three young princes. He taught them the ways of this kingdom. He loved his second son more than the others, but they didn’t talk about that.

He’d been a cruel king, wicked and mean. He made enemies. And one day, one of those enemies left him broken and bloody, bleeding out in his own driveway. The favorite son found the body on his way to practice. 

The queen fell without her king. Or maybe she’d always been falling and none of them noticed, but soon the princes were left with a kingdom they weren’t sure they wanted and the weight of words like _expectations_ and _destiny_.

The eldest prince let the tragedy raise him up. The king and queen had never loved him like the others so while it hurt, he was not broken. He’d already built his own legacy. “I think about them every day,” he’d said in interviews. “But I think they’d want me to stay strong and keep going.”

The youngest prince let the tragedy mold him into something softer, something kinder. He’d been sheltered for most of his life so he locked all the hurt and pain away behind gentle smiles and kind words. “I’m just taking it one day at a time,” he’d said.

The second prince let the tragedy destroy him. He’d been the favorite, the savior of the Lynch family, so he embraced the pain, holding it close to his chest and letting it swallow him whole. He’d punched the only reporter to ever ask him about his family. And then his roommate found him bleeding out in the bathtub of their shared apartment the night before the NHL draft.

Ronan Lynch was a prince, and when he failed, he was locked away in the tower that was Aglionby University.

* * *

Ronan's phone rang. Declan was calling, presumably to tell Ronan what he was doing wrong.

He hit ignore, triumphantly flopping over to go back to sleep. Then it rang again. He ignored two more calls before picking up. Usually, he held out a lot longer, but he knew Declan could be a persistent fuckwad and he didn’t want to spend the rest of the morning playing cellular dodgeball.

“When I call you, I actually expect you to pick up,” Declan said.

“A dangerous precedent to set.” Ronan flipped his body over to squint at the alarm Gansey had bought him. It was 8:00. It was funny how he woke, refreshed, and alive at 6:00 every morning when he was home at the Barns but at Monmouth, 8:00 felt so early. Maybe it had something to do with the lighting.

“How have practices been going?” Declan loved to talk about practices. Other topics he liked included investment portfolios and what Ronan was planning to do with the rest of his sorry existence.

Ronan mocked his question back to him, a bit leftover from childhood. Declan’s silence brought to mind the persistent glare. Ronan hadn’t seen it in person for a couple of weeks but he could picture it perfectly after years of exposure. “We suck. We’ll get better.”

He could hear his brother roll his eyes. “Eloquent,” he said.

“It’s a gift.”

“Have you talked to Matthew?”

“Yeah,” he said. “He thinks you should fuck off too.”

“Very mature. Is he doing okay?” On Declan’s end, there was a shuffling like he didn’t even have time to talk, which Ronan would have been more tolerant of if he didn’t call so goddamn often. What did he even do anyway? Other than practices and his consistent schedule of complaining, it seemed he didn’t have much in the way of hobbies.

“Ask him yourself.”

“I did, but he doesn’t talk to me like he does you.”

This was true obviously. Matthew called Ronan every night to talk about how cool his teammates were and what he'd had for dinner and what team Ronan should play for after graduation. And Ronan listened obediently on the other end, beating back every hint of resentment. “Smart kid. Are we done here?”

“Are you getting up?”

He pulled the comforter higher, wrapping hands in it to pull it up to his chin. “Yes.”

“If I call Gansey, will he say the same thing?”

“Fuck off,” he said.

“Ronan, get up.”

He hung up instead.

If he pulled his comforter over his face, he could almost block out the sunlight streaming in through his suspiciously open curtains. He shut them each night and each morning, he woke with a face full of sunlight. All of the guys denied it, but he knew they were in cahoots.

“Declan wants you to get up.”

Ronan peered up from his nest to find Gansey peering in the doorway, his phone still grasped in his hand and an overly-concerned look washing over his punchable face.

“I want Declan to get a life,” he said. “So I guess we’re both gonna end up disappointed.”

Gansey pinched the bridge of his nose. It reminded Ronan of a father, not his father of course because his father never wore glasses and had never shown that level of concern for another living thing in his entire life, but still a father nonetheless. “It’s the first day of classes. You have to go.”

“So I don’t miss the very important reading of syllabuses?”

“Syllabi.”

“What?”

“The plural of syllabus is syllabi,” Gansey said. “You don’t care, do you?” As much as Ronan usually appreciated Gansey’s long-winded spiels on everything from Welsh kings to the English language, he shook his head. It was too early for that kind of thing.

Gansey responded by pulling the comforter off the bed, exposing Ronan’s body to the harsh lighting and the chill of the drafty building.

“Adam is baking.” He grabbed a fist full of Ronan’s tank top and pulled him from the bed. Ronan grasped desperately at the sheets, but Gansey gave one final yank and both of them crashed to the floor in a heap.

Ronan huffed and rolled off Gansey. He turned to face him, staring back at Ronan with a concerned quirk of his lip. “It won’t get better if you don’t make an effort.”

Ronan nodded. He didn’t see much chance of it getting better whether he tried or not, but that would hurt Gansey. So he didn’t say it. Not a lie, but a half-truth.

Gansey offered his hand and they pulled each other to their feet and Ronan followed.

Parrish was in fact in the kitchen. He’d spent a lot of time in the kitchen at Monmouth in the weeks since he’d arrived at Aglionby. Gansey and Noah kept inviting him over. He’d won their hearts with his pies and his stupid accent.

The first time Ronan had seen Adam, he’d physically ached for hours afterward. His face was a strange one, the kind that burned itself on the inside of Ronan’s eyelids. And now he couldn’t sleep without staring back at it.

He chalked it up to jealousy. Gansey was quite fond of the guy and suddenly he was everywhere Ronan was. He couldn’t even enjoy the privacy of his own home without Parrish baking in the kitchen.

“Let it cool,” Parrish said as the boys eyed his latest creation hungrily. Caruthers had burnt his tongue in his enthusiasm yesterday. Ronan had thought it was hilarious, but apparently, Parrish disagreed.

“You made this here?” Blue asked, perched on the side of Gansey’s desk. “In that monstrosity of a kitchen?”

Adam laughed, a soft smile washing over his face. His eyebrows crinkled and the lines around his jaw disappeared for a second. Ronan kept his focus locked on the pie.

Once it had cooled, Parrish sliced it and sent Henry and Noah off to class with a slice each.

“No morning classes?” he asked Ronan as he pulled another slice from the tin, slapping it down onto a paper plate. He handed it to him.

“Not really a morning person,” he said

“You get up early for practice.”

“Not much of a choice.”

He stuck his finger into the filling, smearing the fresh berries across it and popping it into his mouth. He watched Adam roll his eyes, still holding out a fork uselessly. Then the flavor hit his tastebuds.

It was raspberry. The same sting of sweet and sour swirling together on his tongue like when he was a kid. Aurora had loved to bake. She tended toward the cakes and cookies variety, but raspberry pie was an occasional treat and that taste had lied dormant somewhere in Ronan’s brain until this moment. “Fuck.”

Adam’s smirked, like a light switch. His irritation was gone and now he was taking far too much pride in the slack-jawed look Ronan was sure he was wearing.

“That’s really fucking good.”

“Almost like I’ve done this before.” He wiped his hands on the towel thrown over his shoulder. “So you like this one better than the blueberry one I made last week.”

Ronan nodded. He didn’t know how to explain himself so he left it there. Adam didn’t ask anything else.

They sat quietly, just the two of them in kitchen/laundry/bathroom as Adam scraped the last few slices onto plates for the other guys and Ronan worked his way through his slice slowly, savoring each bite.

It wasn’t long before Gansey swept into the room, grabbing his slice to go and dragging Ronan to campus. He wasn’t looking forward to any of his classes, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He had Gansey and Blue and Parrish and a whole team full of guys who had his back. He had Monmouth and Matthew. He had Declan, as annoying as ever, but ultimately useful.

The pie settled, gooey and warm in his stomach and Ronan thought maybe this semester could be better.

* * *

This changed, of course when Parrish showed up at Monomoth in the middle of the night and dragged him to Cabeswater.

Adam’s grip on Ronan's shirt was the only thing pulling him forward. Every instinct and muscle twitched back toward his bed. But Adam had shown up at Monmouth at dawn, spark in his eyes and fire in his soul. Ronan hadn’t known how to say no. “Parrish. Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said. “But I am going to kill you if you ever wake me up this early again.”

Adam ignored this, pushing forward into the locker room. “I need your help. Grab your skates.”

“What are we doing?”

“You’ll see.”

They suited up, standing on opposite sides of the room, very carefully avoiding each other’s glances. Occasionally Ronan could see Adam watching from the corner of his eye, but when he turned Adam switched his focus to gathering his helmet and skates. Ronan followed him to the ice.

Cabeswater was dark, with the sun carefully tucked behind thick, early morning clouds, but there was just enough light for them to see without turning on the lights, so long as they stuck to the eastern side.

“Checking practice,” Adam said once they were on the ice. “Let’s go.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I need to work through this. I can’t lock up every time someone comes at me.” His hands twitched nervously as he spoke. “I need to practice it in a controlled environment.”

Ronan wasn’t surprised. The first few practices had been disastrous and Ronan had seen the coaches, watched them whisper. Adam’s panic in the face of checking was the talk of the team. Caruthers had made a snarky comment about it in the locker room last week and Ronan had watched Adam’s tan face go ashen.

Ronan knew Adam was a stubborn little shit. He’d figured that out in the first week of knowing him. He’d assumed Adam had some sort of grand plan to tackle the issue. He just hadn’t realized that plan involved him.

“Why me?” he asked.

“You’re the captain. You promised to lead this team.” He skates backward, taunting Ronan, urging him forward without saying a word. “If this isn’t a part of that, I don’t know what is.”

“I don’t owe you shit.”

“No, but you owe them a win. Don’t you think?” He settled against the glass, lining himself up to be checked. He was egging Ronan on. Ronan wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. “I mean they’ve kept you alive this long right?”

Ronan had punched guys for much less, but something pulled him back. Even as every muscle in him contracted, he refused to be swayed. He wouldn’t do it if it came from anger. Ronan was full of anger. He could always find some spare lying around inside of him. But he didn’t want to hurt Parrish. In games, he could afford to get a little messy, a little angry, but in practice, it was about control. He wasn’t looking to hurt his teammates, only to prepare them for the guys who would.

“I never said I wouldn’t help.” He followed, grabbing Adam by the arms and pulling him a couple of feet away from the glass. If he wanted to get used to the feeling, he’d have to get used to the impact of hitting the glass. Hard to practice if he stayed pressed up against it. “If you suck, Declan’s gonna be up my ass all season.”

“Your brother?”

Ronan wanted to talk about anything other than Declan. “So what, you just want me to check you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Like exposure therapy, I guess.”

Ronan crashed into him before he could say anything else. With his hip pressed against Adam’s, he was very aware of that feeling from before. Like he wanted Adam closer, even as they touched. Like he missed him even though he was right there.

“Skate through it,” he said. His words hung close between them. He wanted to pull away. He wanted to get closer.

Adam, against the glass, was squirming working his way past Ronan. He slipped through and pulled away with nothing more than a shaky breath. But he didn’t fall to the ice, but he seemed more present than he had at practice. Still, Ronan had been the one to cause it and something about that stung. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt him. Obviously, somebody else already had.

“Parrish,” he said. “You okay?”

“I’m alright.” He rolled his shoulders back and his expression turned to stone. All signs of a breakdown were gone. “I’m ready. Let’s go again.”

They reset and did the same. And they kept going until the sun burst through the windows of Cabeswater and washed them both in the light.

“Same time tomorrow?” Adam asked.

“Parrish, I gotta get some sleep sometime.” Ronan shut his locker, letting his head rest sleepily against it. “But how about Thursday?”

“Perfect.”

And then Parrish was gone and Ronan was left with the crushing thought that he actually really liked the bastard. Fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a Tumblr shitpost, but then I got in too deep, so here we are.
> 
> Apparently this is how I'm coping with life at this point. It's all good. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
